


Bound

by j_s_cavalcante



Category: due South
Genre: Episode Related, First Time, Handcuffs, M/M, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:10:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_s_cavalcante/pseuds/j_s_cavalcante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is not always possible to tell who is the captive simply by observing who is wearing the handcuffs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [secretlybronte](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=secretlybronte).



He'd had to do it.

So Fraser kept telling himself.

He wasn't very good at bluffing, which was why he'd had to arrest Ray properly. In the absence of a proper arrest, Cahill might have legal justification for insisting Ray be remanded to CPD custody. Then Fraser wouldn't be able to help him.

Fraser's only aim was to help Ray. To protect him.

So Fraser told himself yet again.

Ray hadn't even protested when Fraser arrested him this morning. Hadn't blamed Fraser for anything. Later, of course, Ray had chafed at the necessity of staying inside the Consulate, and the subsequent events of the day had enervated him.

Now he was dozing fitfully on the couch in the parlor, his lanky form stretched out in a pair of Fraser's jeans and a flannel shirt, which he'd put on back-to-front, like a straitjacket. Fraser saw the scene as clearly as if he were still standing in the doorway watching: Ray, laying his tousled head on a spare pillow from Fraser's closet, tucking his bare feet against the armrest, trailing one hand on the carpet, tapping rhythmically, as though he were hearing inner music.

Ray had refused four separate times the offer of Fraser's cot, a bedroll, or a guest bedroom upstairs. Apparently, Ray wanted to take his rest as near the door as possible.

Reluctantly, Fraser had left him there and retreated to his solitary cot, in his office. Where there was no more rest than Ray was getting, and perhaps less.

Fraser swallowed around the lump in his throat.

He'd bound Ray's hands.

Ray's _hands._ His long-fingered, heavy-jointed, unusual, extraordinary hands.

Dear God. For a moment, after Fraser had cuffed him, Ray had looked...vulnerable.

It was the first time he'd ever seemed truly vulnerable to Fraser.

It wasn't something Fraser ever wanted to see again.

Not like that.

At least he'd cuffed them in front. At least he hadn't made Ray stand up, hadn't frisked him, hadn't taken his belt and his bootlaces, hadn't bound his hands behind his back as he was technically supposed to do. He could justify that small kindness, were he questioned on procedure, by pointing out that the prisoner was suffering from a minor head injury and was in no condition to run any further even if he were so inclined.

But Fraser couldn't have justified not cuffing him at all.

That was what Fraser had told himself, even as he recited the Brydges caution and took care not to hurt Ray's wrists. Even as he schooled his mind away from the bitter memory of being cuffed himself—properly, tightly, hands behind the back—and led out of the 27thDistrict as a suspect, while every eye that turned his way looked hatred at him for his betrayal of Ray Vecchio.

But Ray Kowalski hadn't protested, hadn't resisted. He had just looked from Fraser to his bound wrists and back again, his hands poised, his fingers starting to spread apart, his palms unfolding, silent yet eloquent as only Ray could be.

Ray spoke with his entire body, whether he set words to his communication or not, and of all his parts, except perhaps his eyes, Ray's hands were the most expressive.

In the moment after Fraser cuffed him, those exquisite hands had curled open gracefully to configure a single, pointed question: _Why?_

He'd looked up at Fraser, perhaps a little exasperated, perhaps thinking, as he often said, that Fraser was a freak, but he hadn't said anything. He'd just waited for the explanation, every line of his wiry form telegraphing his utter certainty that an explanation was forthcoming and that although Fraser might be odd, might even be coming unhinged, he would never be deliberately cruel.

Ray had looked at his bound hands, then looked up at Fraser with total, utter trust.

Remembering, Fraser released an involuntary groan, loud in his small office. He jerked upright, momentarily afraid he'd awakened Diefenbaker, then remembered belatedly that Dief was staying in the parlor with Ray, keeping watch. Preventing Ray from leaving should he get cold feet again, but, more important, keeping him company so he would not feel alone for even a moment.

Fraser listened, but did not hear the click-click of Diefenbaker's nails on the hallway floor. So perhaps he hadn't been as loud as he thought he had. He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Bullet dodged.

He kicked the covers down—he was too warm, perhaps that was the trouble—and tried to settle comfortably on the cot. He hoped Ray was sleeping. Ray would need his strength in the morning.

Especially if Fraser failed him. The blank-letter-in-the-envelope trick should work, but it was such a simple thing, really. What if Cahill or one of the other malfeasants saw through it? What if they were devious enough to have tried such a bluff themselves?

Who was Fraser to think he could out-bluff career criminals and—good lord—politicians, all of whom lied for a living?

Another sound of frustration escaped him. Quieter, this time, but, honestly, did he have no self-control at all?

He listened again, and again did not hear footsteps.

And then he did; softer footsteps than Dief's. A barefooted human being was crossing the hall hesitantly, or perhaps sleepily.

Apparently Fraser hadn't spared Ray his ridiculous emotionalism after all. He lay back down and flung his arm over his eyes even though there was little light in the room to shut out, just the faint glow of the night-lit city seeping in between the closed blinds, and the sliver of brightness under the door to the hall.

He got his face covered in the half-second before the door opened, and although he didn't see it, he knew the moment the hallway light knifed into the room.

"Fraser?" Ray's voice was little more than a whisper.

"Ray."

"You okay?"

"Certainly."

Ray snorted, more evidence that Fraser simply could not bluff—or, at least, could not bluff his partner.

A weight on the cot. The warmth of Ray's presence, close to him. Ray's scent, so unexpectedly sweet to Fraser.

"C'mon, what's the matter?"

"Ray, you should be sleeping."

"Yeah. Kinda hard to do right now. You know."

Fraser knew. "Well, you should be resting, at least."

"Tried that. But that is not what I asked. What's up with you?" Ray's hand was suddenly on Fraser's elbow, tugging gently. "Let me see your face."

"Ray, I—I'm..."

"I kicked the door mostly shut; there's not a lot of light in here, if that's what's stopping you."

"No, I—that is to say..." It wasn't—and it was. He wasn't concerned about his eyes' having to adjust; he simply didn't want to bare his face to Ray's perceptive eyes. But without much light, Ray wouldn't be able to see him clearly. Perhaps it was worth the risk. Fraser swallowed and lowered his arm gradually.

Apparently he'd underestimated the acuity of Ray's low-light vision, because Ray said immediately, "Jeez. You're in a bad way. What happened? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Ray."

"Herndorff roughed you up and you didn't tell me!"

"Ray."

"Soon as I get out of here, I'm gonna track that bastard down, bust his ass all the way to City Hall."

"Ray."

"Maybe tune him up, too. Accidentally on purpose kick him in the head. Because he don't get to do that to you."

_“Ray!“_

"What?"

"I don't believe it's wise to express the intent to commit police brutality."

"Hell, I express it all the time. You know I don't mean it."

"I know."

"Perps don't know it; that's why it works."

"Yes." Ray was actually quite a brilliant policeman, despite his unorthodox methods.

"But if somebody hurts my partner, I mean it."

"Ray, don't—he didn't. I wasn't injured."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Then what..."

Fraser sighed. "It's...I'm sorry."

"Sorry, what sorry? What you got to be sorry for?"

Fraser looked down at the edge of the cot, where Ray sat with one long-fingered hand spread on his thigh, seemingly relaxed.

Fraser might not be good at bluffing, but Ray's hands certainly were, because that quiet hand wasn't actually relaxed, no matter how it looked, but taut with coiled energy. At a moment's notice it would be equally ready to curl into a fist and deliver a knockout punch to a malfeasant or to wrap around a friend's hand and haul him to his feet. Fraser knew the strength disguised in those beautiful hands, and in Ray's deceptively wiry arms.

Fraser looked up, met concerned blue eyes. A man who couldn't bluff was left with two options: silence or the truth.

And silence, like darkness, apparently wasn't very effective at hiding things from Ray.

"I handcuffed you," he said.

"What?"

"I bound your hands. Ray, I'm...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. I should have trusted you, as you've trusted me."

"What? You had to. It was, like, your standard procedure, right?"

"Well, yes, after a fashion."

But that wasn't true. In fact, it had been so far from standard procedure that Fraser didn't even know how to categorize it. "Well...no, not exactly." But Ray had to know that. Ray'd been a policeman for eighteen years. He knew how to arrest someone, for Pete's sake.

"You were supposed to handcuff me, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Good. Fine. So that's what you did. All the Ts crossed, all the Is dotted. No one could haul my ass out of here without a stack of Canadian paperwork as long as my arm."

Fraser sighed. "I could simply have _told_ them I'd arrested you properly. I didn't have to actually snap the cuffs over your wrists."

Ray poked Fraser's shoulder hard with one long finger. "You mean lie? Benton Fraser tell an untruth? No way. It wouldn't be you." He relaxed his hand on Fraser's shoulder, cupping it instead. "Anyway, it's okay. You didn't hurt me."

"Oh, I would never have intended—"

"I _know_ that, Fraser."

"All I can think is that I might have overstepped. Taken...liberties I shouldn't have imagined, let alone ever come close to actually doing..."

"Liberties," Ray scoffed gently. "What liberties? I came to you for help; you helped. There is nothing wrong in any of that, Fraser. I didn't mind you playing your little Canadian handcuffs game any more than I minded the shirt you loaned me or the Fun Facts About Nova Scotia session with Turnbull or the curling—well, I did kind of mind the curling, but maybe it grows on you."

"It does."

"Okay, then. So there's nothing in any of that for you to apologize for. You saved my non-Canadian bacon, and you're gonna finger the actual bad guys tomorrow, and then we're gonna get back to work, you and me, one-two punch, set 'em up, knock 'em down, clean up the streets one scumbag at a time."

He snapped his fingers in front of Fraser's face. "You with me, here, Frase?"

"I'm...yes. I'm with you, Ray."

"Good. So you gonna lose the misplaced guilt? Think you'll be able to sleep now?"

Fraser swallowed. "Possibly."

Ray sighed. "How about resting, then? Like you said."

"Yes, well...perhaps. Well. Maybe not." He sighed and put up a hand to rub at his temple.

"Jeez." Ray ran a hand through his hair, inadvertently making it stick up on one side. The effect was oddly endearing, yet bordering on the vulnerability that Fraser didn't want to see in his partner. He looked away.

"You're scared, too, huh?" Ray went on. "You're not sure about tomorrow?"

Fraser couldn't let Ray drown in worry. "I'm confident justice will prevail."

"Oh, yeah. So confident you can't even look me in the eye. Why's that, Fraser? It's because you suck at bluffing, isn't it? You don't lie, but you're going to try to bluff Cahill tomorrow."

"It should—it _will_ work, Ray."

Fraser heard rather than saw Ray run his hand through his hair again, no doubt disarranging it further. By now perhaps it looked the way it did when Ray awoke in the morning, warm and groggy and charmingly unkempt.

Fraser did not look.

"I am _screwed,_ is that what you're trying not to let on?"

"No, Ray." Fraser put all his certainty into his voice.

"Yeah?" Ray's voice was soft. "They're not going to haul me out of here in cuffs?"

"Absolutely not. I won't allow it. I won't let them bind your hands. Not again."

"Fraser, look at me."

Fraser hesitated.

"Look at me."

Fraser turned.

Ray's clear eyes searched his. After a moment he made one of his eloquent movements, really just a nod, but it spoke volumes. The lines around his eyes eased a bit.

"It's going to be okay," Ray said calmly—really quite calmly.

"Now you're comforting me?"

"Yeah. If you need it, yeah."

Fraser felt tightness somewhere in the vicinity of his throat.

"Look." Ray grabbed Fraser's wrist and tugged, pulled Fraser's hand over to his. "Look at my wrists. Feel my wrists."

He pressed Fraser's fingers around his wrists. "You didn't hurt me at all. I'm okay, my hands are okay, they're good."

Ray was _comforting_ him.

It undid him. He'd have to tell Ray the truth.

"You didn't hurt me," Ray persisted.

Small consolation, Fraser thought, when he was about to say what he was about to say. "I'm glad." Fraser's voice sounded oddly calm to his own ears. "But I—I would have hurt you, Ray, if I'd had to, to keep you here."

"Yeah?" Surprisingly, Ray didn't pull away. He did look a bit bewildered, as well he should.

"Yes," Fraser said. "Think, Ray. You'd been framed by both law enforcement and gangland figures, in cahoots. Would it have been to either faction's advantage for you to have survived long enough to tell your side of the story? A police officer who appears to have multiple gangland figures gunning for him makes a very convenient scapegoat."

"I hear you. Jeez...they still might."

"I won't let them," Fraser said. His voice went hard. "I _won't_ let them, Ray. I've done what I can within the law, and I'm confident tomorrow will bring your freedom, but if I'm wrong I'll find a way to spirit you out of here and ensure your safety. And then we'll prove your innocence."

"I know," Ray said very softly. "You don't gotta get all moody about it, Fraser; I understood the handcuffs from the beginning. You see? You don't gotta apologize for that." He pressed Fraser's fingers even more tightly to his wrists. "You didn't hurt me."

A long shudder rolled through Fraser. It took him almost a minute to find his voice. "I'm glad, Ray."

He firmed his fingers around Ray's wrists. Ray still made no move to pull away. Ray just looked him in the eye, steady, sure. The moment felt charged, alive, like the moment before a—

Well, that was a bizarre thought.

"Fraser," Ray said, sounding uncertain, perhaps even hesitant.

"Yes, Ray?" There were glints of green in Ray's eyes. Fraser stared at them, distracted, wondering if he'd ever noticed them properly before, wondering why they were so clear in the low light.

"I, uh...God, this is weird."

"What is?"

"The inside of my brain right now." Ray snorted a soft little laugh. "Yeah, you knew that. I just thought...I just had this crazy thought that I could lean over and—um, you know. If you were a woman, I mean."

"If I were a woman?" Fraser was thoroughly confused, but that was not an abnormal state when he was trying to follow one of Ray's convoluted explanations.

"Yeah. I mean, if you were a woman, Fraser, I would lean over and kiss you right now."

"You _would?“_ Fraser's voice squeaked embarrassingly.

"Yeah." He squeezed Fraser's hand, looked down at it, curled around his wrist, then made a motion to let go.

But he didn't let go.

"Oh," Fraser said. "Oh, I—" He hadn't quite seen things this way before, but it only took seconds to consider, and like that optical-illusion drawing that was either a vase or two faces, depending on how you looked at it, their relationship, their entire association, could easily be reinterpreted in this new way.

_Do you find me attractive? _

He remembered Ray's voice saying those words. He remembered the brilliant flash of Ray's smile when he answered in the affirmative.

And he was _touching_ Ray.

Certainly, as Ray's platonic friend, he'd touched him many times, in ways arguably more intimate, depending on the circumstances, though the pulsebeat under Fraser's fingers certainly seemed an intimate thing, now that Fraser noticed it in this new context.

And while circumstances counted for a lot, they didn't explain why Fraser's fingertips were no longer resting motionless on Ray's skin, why they were instead caressing it. It felt flower-petal soft, so thin over the inside of Ray's wrist, over tendons and veins so close to the surface.

Circumstances didn't explain why Ray seemed to be trembling under Fraser's touch.

Desire seized Fraser, swift and sure, like a polar bear seizing prey. It took him by the neck and shook him. And suddenly he wanted, he longed, he _needed_ to know what it would be like to have Ray, all of Ray, trembling under his touch as a lover, to have even more sensitive areas than his wrists under Fraser's hands, his tender flesh responding with exquisite sensitivity to Fraser's every touch. Ray's body, under Fraser's fingers, perhaps—dear God—under his _mouth..._

Fraser hadn't realized that he wanted to know Ray this way.

Now he knew.

But he couldn't _take_.

It was bad enough he'd put handcuffs on Ray.

And worse, Ray had said _If you were a woman..._

And Fraser wasn't.

He couldn't even pretend to be one.

Oh, he'd done it once, on a case. His disguise had fooled several people, at least temporarily.

It wouldn't have fooled Ray Kowalski.

Sensitive, demonstrative, open-hearted Ray: to him this was probably just another easy expression of affection, friendship, pure and unsullied by baser desires.

Fraser drew breath. His friend had come to him for help, and Fraser had helped by taking him prisoner.

Now Fraser had to set him free. It wasn't important what Fraser wanted. What was important was Ray.

It took Fraser nearly every ounce of his will to pry his fingers from around Ray's wrist and let him go, but Fraser did it.

"I'm not...ah...I'm not a woman," he admitted, his voice barely audible in his cluttered cell of a room.

"I know that, Fraser. I sure do know that. I told you my brain was weird. It thinks what it wants, you know, even if it's thinking something that ought to freak me out. I'm sorry. Made you pretty uncomfortable, huh?"

The question made no sense to Fraser. His comfort wasn't the issue here. It wasn't the issue at all. Had he considered Ray's comfort when he bound his hands?

Fraser scratched at his eyebrow, unsure how to answer.

Ray lifted his freed hand and smacked his head with the flat of it, hard. "Way to go, Ray," he muttered. "Guy takes you in and saves your life and you go and put the moves on him like he's some kind of..."

Fraser stopped him by putting a hand on his thigh.

Startled, Ray looked down at this new indiscretion.

Fraser followed his gaze, feeling equally startled. Oh, dear. It was possible he'd just changed everything, irrevocably. Would Fraser ever be able to see the vase again? Would he see only the silhouettes of their faces, his and Ray's, locked in this awkward pose, forever?

He felt his hand tremble on Ray's thigh. Perhaps there would never again be a totally innocent touch between them. Every moment of their partnership might be charged like this one, a live wire of tension always strung between them, ready to snap.

He looked back up to see Ray's eyes wide, nervous.

But there was a question Fraser needed to ask. Something Ray had said that didn't make sense...

"'Put the moves' on me?" he asked. "Er, did you mean...?" Because Fraser was fairly certain it had been he and not Ray who'd crossed the line.

"Fraser—" Ray said in a warning tone. "This is one of those things. Those boxes. What's her name, Pandora's box. You gotta be very, very sure you want to open it, because once you do, closing it is kinda tough. Just ask Stella, you know?"

Dear God.

Fraser was very, very sure. He'd never been as sure of anything. He looked back down at his hand on Ray's thigh. Then deliberately moved it up an inch. One inch closer to Ray.

Strong muscles tensed under his hand.

Ray's hand came down, warm, over his. Tugged his hand up one more inch. Fraser could feel the warmth of Ray simultaneously on top of his hand and beneath it, a delicious enfoldment. It would be warmer still the farther up he moved, the blood closer to the surface at the pulse points of Ray's groin.

He yearned to feel that warmth.

"Frase?" Ray said in a voice that wavered slightly. "Um, you ever...you know...with a guy?"

Fraser shook his head. "But it doesn't matter."

"Okay. Yeah, I get that. Me, I—um, I pretty much never have, either. Came close a couple times, but..."

"It doesn't matter," Fraser repeated. The tension inside him stretched, began to fray.

"Guess not. You and me, we're not really like anybody else. Kind of...freaky."

"Right."

Ray leaned toward him again, taut with the still-unanswered question between them. He didn't have to ask; Fraser knew the question. And his answer. "So...you want to try?"

"Oh, yes."_ Want_ was such an inadequate word for this...this need. This inevitability.

Ray apparently felt it, too, because there was hunger in his eyes and in the determined curve of his upper lip. He leaned closer still, closer—and then his lips were on Fraser's, soft, hesitant. Shy, even.

Fraser hadn't imagined Ray would be a shy lover.

Fraser hadn't realized he had imagined what kind of lover Ray would be, but apparently he had.

He should have remembered he was no stranger to self-deception, especially in matters of the heart.

He braced himself with his free hand on the cot and his other hand still on Ray's thigh, and leaned into Ray's kiss.

Warmth blossomed between them, the silky, wet warmth of Ray's mouth, Ray's tongue, seeking his out. Warmth under his fingers—Ray had pulled his hand up, up to his groin to cup the heavy, burgeoning warmth between his legs. Any illusion of shyness was gone: Ray was hard under Fraser's hand, and the pulsebeat in his erection was clear as a summoning bell despite the layer of fabric between Ray's skin and Fraser's hand.

If the skin of Ray's wrist had enticed Fraser, how much more would the skin of his...

Fraser gasped inarticulately into Ray's mouth.

Ray's hand tightened on Fraser's, holding him captive over Ray's hardness, the shape of his erection beautifully obvious under the soft denim of the jeans Fraser had lent him. The jeans were at least a size too big for him, slung low on his hips, so loose they neither constrained nor hid his arousal.

And perhaps Ray could bluff a suspect or a chess opponent, but—as with any man—his penis could not bluff.

This was truth: Ray wanted him.

Fraser lifted his mouth from Ray's, regarded it for a moment. The waterfall edge of Ray's lower lip was trembling. Trembling, as it had not done when Fraser cuffed Ray.

Fraser leaned in and laid a gentle kiss right there, on that lip.

"Am I pushing you too fast?" Ray whispered against his mouth.

"No."

"You up for...?"

"Yes! Anything."

Ray's smile was brilliant in the dim light of the room, the same quick, unguarded smile he'd given Fraser in the crypt, when Fraser'd told him he found him attractive.

Ray nudged him back on the cot, back onto his pillow, and crawled up to lie on top of him, his knees braced around Fraser's thighs.

He propped himself on his elbows, too, so he wasn't heavy on Fraser at all, and lowered his mouth to Fraser's again.

Ray's kisses were intoxicating; his hands on Fraser were spellbinding. His _hands_. Dear God, those hands that Fraser shouldn't have restrained, those hands were on him, now, unchained, free to roam—and taking every advantage of that fact.

Ray's hands had found the buttons of Fraser's longjohns. Ray's fingers gently popped the first button open, then the second.

God.

Fraser could not move. He _must _not move.

Ray opened the third button.

Fraser wound his own hands into the sheets, clutching them hard.

Ray stopped, looked down at him. "You okay?"

"Oh, yes," Fraser breathed, scarcely able to manage the words audibly. "Yes, Ray."

Ray opened the fourth button, and slipped his hand under the soft wool, spreading his long fingers over Fraser's chest. "Wow," Ray breathed. "Jeez, you really are as built as you look. I knew that. I knew."

His sensitive fingertips found Fraser's nipples, worried them for a moment, just roughly enough to make Fraser gasp. "Ray, I—don't..."

Ray stopped moving immediately, but didn't take his hands off Fraser. "You don't like that?"

"Oh, I like it. Perhaps too well."

Ray shook his head, smiling ruefully. "You gotta learn to relax, Frase. You know, it's okay to do something once in a while just because it feels good."

"I...I know that," Fraser said, his voice sounding a bit petulant to his own ears. He hoped it didn't sound quite so bad to Ray.

"You gotta relax," Ray repeated.

"I shouldn't. I can't."

"Yeah, you can. Think of, uh, you know, a thundering herd of caribou on an ice field, or something."

Fraser almost smiled—trust Ray to remember that. But a simple relaxation technique wouldn't be enough. He knew it wouldn't be enough to keep him from overstepping.

Still, there was something in his office that could. "Cuffs," Fraser said.

"What?" Ray half sat up.

"Get my handcuffs. In the desk drawer."

"What? You're not into _that_...you can't be."

"No? Why not?"

"It's not _you, _Fraser."

"It could be."

"No way."

"Well, I want to. Don't you say you'll try anything?"

Ray shrugged. "Well, yeah, within reason. Why're you doing this?"

"I want to be restrained."

"Why? You think you're going to hurt me?" Ray's eyes were wide with confusion.

"It's not that. It's...I cuffed your hands, Ray."

"You're still worrying about that? Feeling guilty for some unhinged reason? Forget it."

"I'm concerned I...I don't want to be tempted. To do it _to_ you. To...take whatever I..." he choked, unable to finish.

"What the hell? I _want_ you to do stuff to me. What do you think I'm asking for, here? Touch me, Fraser, c'mon, I'm up for whatever you're up for."

"Ray, I...you don't—"

"You saying you want to fuck me? We can do that. I mean, we'll need some stuff, but if you got something, I'm up for that. Uh, if that's what you want."

Fraser couldn't suppress a moan. But he said, "Ray, no—"

"Or not," Ray said. "It doesn't matter. Whatever you want."

"You shouldn't say that, Ray."

"Well, I'm saying it."

"It isn't right," Fraser said. "You're...you're my prisoner." He knew he sounded like he was clutching at straws. He was.

Ray swallowed. "Huh. I thought I was your partner."

"Well, you are that, too. And my friend."

"Right. The prisoner thing was just so you could help me."

"Well...that's true. I suppose I didn't have to arrest you in Canada. I could have taken you outside and turned you over to the Chicago Police Department."

"But you wouldn't have."

Fraser hung his head.

"Come on, Fraser. I know you wouldn't have."

"You're right," Fraser whispered.

"And that _bothers_ you?" Ray sounded indignant. As well he should of course.

"Concerns me," Fraser said. "I put my feelings ahead of my duty once before, with disastrous results. I've resolved never to do so again."

"This isn't the same. There's no conflict, here, Frase."

"I don't see how you can say—"

Ray held up an impatient hand, his forefinger and little finger extended. "There's no conflict because you're doing the right thing, Fraser. You're doing the right thing helping me, and you're doing the right thing, uh...doing me." Quick flash of a smile—Ray's shy, self-deprecating smile.

Fraser's knees felt weak, even though he was lying down.

"Because you and me, we got something, here," Ray was saying intently. Persistently. "We're partners and friends...but it's more than that. It's kinda always been more than that, Fraser. You know it has."

Yes. Since the first moment he'd laid eyes on Ray, even in the midst of his distress, when this bewildering, fascinating man strode up to him and threw his arms around him, it had been more.

Admittedly, Fraser had done his share of intruding into Ray's space as well. From that very first day when he'd manhandled him, trying to prevent him from stopping the flaming Buick Riviera, to the day when he'd talked his way into Ray's apartment—invading his castle, Ray called it—to this morning, when he'd snapped his cuffs around Ray's unresisting wrists, Fraser had never behaved toward Ray as one would toward a stranger.

Fraser had never maintained anything that could remotely be called a polite distance, no matter how generously one were inclined to view his actions.

"Yes," he admitted. "It's always been more."

"This is just you and me, Frase. There's nobody else here, and I...I kinda need you right now. And if anything goes wrong tomorrow, we'll at least have had this..."

"It won't go wrong." Fraser willed him to believe it.

"I hope not, buddy," Ray breathed. He lifted one long finger and traced it over Fraser's lips, delicately. "Uh, can we...?"

"My cuffs, Ray."

Ray pulled back and lifted himself off Fraser, sitting back on his heels. "You're sure about this?"

"Quite."

Ray sighed. "Where's the key?"

"Right next to them, in the top desk drawer."

"All right."

Ray pushed himself up off Fraser and sat back on his heels. He tugged his shirt down off his shoulders—the flannel shirt of Fraser's that he’d been wearing backwards—his hasty movements stirring the air between them, and Fraser detected the scent of Ray in the shirt, their scents mingled in the fibers....

He let out an involuntary sound, a little gasp, at the realization.

Ray hauled the shirt off and tossed it on the floor, his gaze never leaving Fraser's.  
He still had on a white t-shirt, also Fraser's, which clung to his taut shoulders and pectorals, but hung loosely over his flat belly. "Okay." He rubbed a hand through his hair. "Okay. Cuffs." He scrambled off the cot and went to Fraser's desk, rummaged in the drawer for a moment, and came up with the cuffs and the key, holding them up, smiling gently. He kneed his way back onto the cot.

Hope flickered in Fraser's chest. Perhaps this was going to work. He could have Ray, safely...

His gaze still locked on Fraser's, Ray tossed him the key. Fraser caught it without thinking and looked at it, perplexed. "You don't have to give me the key, Ray; I trust you."

"Oh, I know that," Ray said, and his smile now looked a bit...smug.

As well it should, Fraser supposed.

Ray licked his lower lip and thumbed open the button of his jeans.

Fraser tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. "Ray, the cuffs," he managed to say in a parched whisper.

"Okay." Ray held up the cuffs—

—and quickly snapped first one, then the other, around his own wrists.

"What the hell?"

Ray grinned. "Ooh. Got the Mountie swearing, now. They give out demerits for that in Mountie school?"

"Yes." Fraser bit off the word, tightened his fists in handfuls of sheet. "Ray, what are you doing?"

Ray slung a leg over Fraser's hips so that he was straddling him on the cot. "It's _you_ you don't trust, Fraser."

"And you honestly think the solution for that is to..."

"Jump," Ray said. "Like me driving a flaming car into the lake."

"How so?" Fraser knew he sounded angry. Couldn't help it.

"You want me to trust you, Fraser, don't you? About tomorrow?" Ray held up his bound hands. The sliver of light from the hallway glinted on the cuffs as he moved. "You think I should?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Why?"

"Because the plan will work. It's well thought out."

"Nope."

"It's not?"

"Oh, I'm sure it is, but that's not why I trust you. That's not what trust is."

"I don't understand, Ray."

"See, that's not trust, that's knowing. That's...that logical thing you do, which you maybe have noticed, that's not exactly the thing I do."

Fraser kept his hands knotted in the bedclothes. "Nonsense, you're quite logical in your own way, Ray, really—"

But Ray interrupted by tightening his thighs around Fraser's hips suddenly. It wasn't an action Fraser could ignore. He was achingly hard, his penis pushing up, reaching for Ray, touching him through their clothes, and the thin layer of his longjohns and even Ray's jeans didn't provide much of a barrier.

He tried not to squirm.

Ray pinned him with a look. "Trust is what you're doing when you _don't _know the answers, you _don't _know the outcome, but you believe in your partner so much that when he says 'jump,' you jump."

"You're saying I should trust you in this, as you're trusting me."

"I'm saying you gotta trust _you, _Fraser." Ray poked Fraser's chest gently with one finger, awkwardly, the cuffs jingling. "If _you_ can't trust Benton Fraser, how can you expect _me_ to trust him?"

"You don't understand, Ray. I'm not...trustworthy, not when it comes to..."

"Sex?"

Fraser shook his head. "Matters of the heart. I become...confused. Disoriented. I can't tell up from down, or...wrong from right. I can't tell a hawk from a handsaw."

"What?" Ray waved a hand, or tried to, apparently, but with his hands cuffed, it was more of a shrug, and he gripped Fraser tightly with his thighs to keep his balance. "Never mind. I get it. That's a fancy Canadian way of saying you feel kind of whacked when you're in l—" He stopped. Swallowed audibly. "Fraser..."

"Ray—"

"This isn't just partnership," Ray breathed, his eyes wide, like a skittish horse, Fraser thought. "It isn't just partnership plus friendship plus sex, is it? It's more."

"Yes," Fraser said, half expecting Ray to bolt, never mind his state of undress and the fact that even now, CPD officers were staked out in front of the building, prepared to arrest him.

But Ray smiled instead, a fleeting unselfconscious expression of delight, just as he had in the crypt that day when Fraser told him he found him attractive. "It's always been more," Ray said. "Yeah. You and me are a duet, Fraser."

"Yeah," Fraser echoed. He swallowed hard, and put a hand up to touch the chain linking the handcuffs. "Though I would never have _asked_ for this, Ray. I'm already so thankful for our friendship, our partnership. I wouldn't have—"

"Rocked the boat? Yeah, I know what you mean." Ray said, flashing that quick, sheepish smile again. "But me, I rock boats, that's what I do."

"I'm glad you did." Fraser pulled Ray's hands in gently and kissed his fingertips.

"You know, I don't think the cuffs are a kink for you," Ray said thoughtfully, tracing the edge of Fraser's upper lip with both his forefingers. "They're not for me, either. They're just cuffs. It's not about them."

"Then why bind your hands?" Fraser said.

"Because then I can't put the moves on you. I can't run this."

Untrue: Ray was in charge here, and Fraser suspected they both knew it.

"You're going to have to take responsibility for what you do here," Ray went on. "You want to do me? Then _do_ me. Just don't call it an accident or say this was beyond your control, because it isn't. I'm cuffed; you've got the key."

Something wild roiled in Fraser's belly. This human cyclone that was his partner—Ray, with all his jittery, can’t-sit-still, frenetic energy—had agreed to be _contained. _For Fraser.

Ray had agreed to _stay._

"You want to take my pants off me, Fraser?"

"God, Ray..."

"Go ahead," Ray said with a casual little nod, as though this were of no moment. No big deal, as he would say. But Ray's body gave him the lie. His nostrils flared minutely as he breathed, and sweat had beaded on his upper lip. The tip of his pink tongue flashed out, swiped at it, disappeared.

"Do you want me to, Ray?"

Ray nodded with his whole upper body. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. But it's gotta be your choice." He held up his cuffed hands, pulled the wrists in opposite directions till they clanked and stopped him. "Your choice."

"And yours?"

"I already chose. I want you to fuck me. If you want to."

"Oh, I want to," Fraser breathed before he could stop himself. At that moment, he couldn't remember ever wanting anything quite as acutely.

"Then we're good," Ray whispered, and inched forward until his knees touched the edges of Fraser's ribcage.

Fraser's breath caught in his throat. He felt his own tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

Ray's eyes were steady on his, just as they had been in the morning, when Fraser snapped the cuffs on him. Ray knelt up, leaning his forearms against the wall over Fraser's head.

Fraser put his hands out and settled them on Ray's hips.

"Go ahead," Ray said softly.

Fraser watched as his own hands pushed the loose jeans down Ray's narrow hips. A single touch was enough to coax the zipper down, and the pants just...fell, loosely, down Ray's thighs.

The hem of Ray's t-shirt was long; it still hid Ray from view, but the front of it now tented enticingly.

Fraser pushed at the jeans till they pooled around Ray's knees. They were Fraser's jeans, loose enough on Ray that Fraser could push them off him without having to lift Ray off his knees. He cupped one of Ray's knees and pushed the jeans leg under it, supporting Ray while he squirmed all the way out of the pants leg. Then he did the same on the other side.

Ray kicked the jeans onto the floor without a glance, then he looked back at Fraser, challenge written in his eyes. "Go for it," he said.

If Fraser hadn't guessed before that the t-shirt was Ray's only remaining garment, he would have realized it now from the expression on Ray's face, half-mocking and half-sheepish.

"I, uh...had to go commando," Ray said. "My stuff from before was all sweaty. Smelled like terror and blowback."

Fraser had forgotten to offer him underclothes, not that he had anything that would really be suitable for Ray.

As he understood it, people in cities did not generally borrow underclothes from each other. Out on the Arctic ice, on patrol, for instance, people were not so particular. If you needed dry clothing and someone offered you dry clothing, you didn't turn it down. But underwear didn't mean life or death in Chicago, and Ray was smiling now as though his lack of said garment was merely an entertaining anecdote.

Fraser's fingertips grazed the edge of Ray's t-shirt.

Ray caught his bottom lip with his teeth, watching intently.

Still locking his eyes on Ray's, Fraser pushed the shirt up. It flopped back down before he even got a look at Ray's body.

Ray chuckled. "Push it up over my head."

So Fraser did, with Ray ducking his head to help.

Then the shirt was behind Ray, behind his neck, binding his shoulders, just loose enough not to pull them back.

Fraser tore his gaze from Ray's face and looked his fill at Ray's body. It was so familiar, and yet so different in this new context. Ray's slender frame was clad in musculature that was wiry, rather than bulky. He had a lean, spare look; not an extra ounce on him, but what was there was solid, beautifully shaped. And Fraser knew these strong shoulders, knew Ray's taut, handsome chest, his sinewy arms, his prominent ribcage, and his flat but not gaunt belly. He'd seen the sharp hipbones—even Ray's own pants often hung a bit on him, threatening to expose them. But he'd never seen the lower curve of Ray's belly, the dusting of soft, light-brown hair, or—

Good Lord. He'd certainly never seen the impressive erection jutting straight at him from the juncture of Ray's thighs, nor the heavy testicles crowding up beneath it as Fraser watched.

He looked back up at Ray, who had been smiling faintly, but whose smile was now edging slightly toward a frown.

"Something the matter?"

Fraser shook his head immediately. Felt his tongue dart out over his lower lip again. "My goodness, Ray."

"You like me?" Ray sounded as though he were uncertain how to interpret Fraser's reaction.

Fraser let his face relax into a smile that he hoped was reassuring. "Of course, Ray, very much so. I just...didn't expect...well, when I imagined..."

Ray watched him nervously, swallowing. "You _imagined?_"

That brought Fraser up short. "Oh, dear."

"I thought you didn't think about this before, Frase. "

"Well, I...er, I don't know, Ray. I thought I hadn't, but..." But he had at least imagined what Ray would look like. The image was clear in his mind. He just hadn't realized it was _significant_ at the time. "I may have had some stray thoughts along these lines, but I never thought...well, that they were anything but...figments."

"Oh, yeah?" Ray looked intrigued...for a man who was trying to squelch a rising volume of impatience.

"Of course I knew you'd be beautiful, but..."

"Beautiful." Ray snorted. "C'mon, Frase." But a smile edged onto his lips.

"Beautiful," Fraser said decisively. "Yes. Somehow I knew that, but I didn't expect ever to be permitted to...to see you like this, Ray." Fraser brought his hand up underneath Ray's erection, flattening his palm under it, not quite touching. Ray's length exceeded that of Fraser's hand by several centimeters. "You appear _very _aroused," Fraser finished lamely.

"Uh, _yeah._ I am," Ray said, and pressed his lips together. Holding on. Holding on for Fraser.

"You really want this. You want...me."

"Mm-hm." Ray's voice shook. He jerked his hands up, but they were bound in the cuffs; he couldn't complete whatever action he'd been thinking of. His blue eyes pleaded with Fraser in the half-darkness.

"May I touch you?" Fraser said.

"Yeah, yeah, God, _do_ it." The crown of Ray's penis, beautifully flared already, seemed to swell a little bit more, and the slit drooled clear fluid. And Fraser hadn't even touched Ray yet.

He heard Ray catch his breath sharply. He brought his hand up and around Ray's tumescent flesh, so hot in his hand. So responsive, the vein pulsing under his fingers.

Ray let out a sound that was half sigh, half whimper. His hips jerked convulsively. The cuffs clanked. "You got something we can use for lube?" Ray grunted out.

Ray had been so patient. Fraser took pity on him. "Oh. Oh, yes. On the...here." Fraser released Ray, eliciting another groan, and slid out from under him to retrieve the little tin from the top of the far file cabinet. He opened it, showed Ray, who had turned over and settled on his back on the cot with his head on Fraser's pillow. And with a trusting look on his face, so like the one he'd worn in the morning when Fraser gave him first aid for the small cut on his forehead.

Ray sniffed at it. "At least it's not stinky like that pregnant membrane stuff."

"It contains beeswax, among other lubricating ingredients. It should work well."

Ray grinned up at him. "Go for it, Frase."

So Fraser did, applying the lubricant generously to Ray, letting him get used to the feeling of Fraser's finger inside him—first one, then two, till Ray whimpered again and arched back on the pillow, bringing his bound hands up over his head till they banged into the wall. "Frase, Frase, Frase," he chanted under his breath. "God, _now.“_

Fraser opened his longjohns all the way, barely avoiding tearing some of the buttons. He kneed his way into the vee of Ray's spread thighs and pressed his erection to Ray's anus, pushed a little. The lubricant had made everything too slippery; he slid away. He got himself in hand and tried again. Pushed, to no avail.

"Harder!" Ray said. "C'mon, c'mon."

Fraser forged on. Nothing. "I don't want to hurt you!" He was so close, so close to Ray, but not close enough. He leaned over him and kissed his chest.

Even bound, Ray reached his hands up and wiped at the sweat beading Fraser's brow. "It's okay, Fraser. I'm good."

"You don't know that. I could hurt you."

"Nah, you won't."

"How can you be so sure?" Fraser said, an echo of Ray's words to him earlier in the evening, before they retired. An eon ago.

"Because I know you, Fraser. You're my partner. And my friend."

"Oh, Ray..."

"My friend. And my lover."

Fraser swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat, but the emotion did nothing to diminish his arousal. "Let me in?"

"You got it, buddy." Ray shut his eyes for a second, concentrating. And then there was a tiny amount of give in the ring of muscle, and Fraser pushed a little, and there was more give, but tight, so tight, and Fraser pushed a little more, just a little...

...and he was in, just his glans, the tightness convulsing around him, and Ray was gasping hard for air. Fraser wanted to pull out, he wanted to give Ray air, he wanted to do anything at all except be here _hurting_ Ray, but Ray was _smiling _as he gasped, and he groaned, "More, Fraser. Keep it up, c'mon, more."

Fraser tried to push very, very slowly.

Ray groaned more deeply. "More!"

Fraser pushed. And slid all the way in in one stroke.

Ray bit back what might've been a shout, and started moving under Fraser at once.

Fraser looked down. Ray had lost his erection, but his hips thrust up as though he hadn't, as though he were still aroused. His hands were still up over his head, bound, the fingers laced together, perhaps for balance. The sparse hair under his arms looked very soft, and it suddenly seemed such an intimate thing to be permitted to see Ray like this, to see the pale skin and soft hair under his arms, and the way his pectorals arched across into his shoulders, and the way his ribcage heaved for breath.

Fraser looked down Ray's body, down the thoracic arch of his charmingly sprung ribcage to his belly, taut and straining up toward Fraser. With his chest and belly bared under Fraser, Ray looked so vulnerable.

And Ray's hands were _bound; _if he wanted his penis touched, Fraser would have to touch it, Fraser would have to stroke him, Fraser would have to do it for him. The thought sent a spike of pleasure into Fraser's belly.

But Ray didn't ask to be touched; he just rocked his hips under Fraser, his breathing ragged and loud.

Fraser put his hands down to Ray's hips and held them, and thrust once, experimentally.

"Oh, _God, _Fraser! Do it. Yeah."

So Fraser did it again. And again, until Ray was shouting and sweating and trembling hard under him, exactly as Fraser had imagined earlier. And as it turned out, reality beat imagination hands down.

Fraser loved the feeling of his hands on Ray's hips. His thumbs found the grooves along Ray's hipbones, perfect little hollows that his fingers fit into precisely. He pressed closer, thinking to rub his belly against Ray's penis, to touch Ray that way—and found him hard, erect again as though he'd never lost it, swelling bigger by the second, slick under Fraser's abdominals, pushing up against him.

Ray groaned, shuddered, thrust upward, his erection painting a stripe of warmth onto Fraser's belly.

Fraser pushed _in,_ again and again.

Ray's eyes, which had been half-closed, suddenly opened wide as though he'd had a revelation. "Oh, my _God,_ Fraser!" He opened his mouth wide as well and panted, "OhmyGod, ohmygodddd..." His penis pulsed against Fraser's belly and spurted hot ejaculate between them; his internal muscles squeezed Fraser deliciously hard in perfect rhythm, and he sweated and writhed and pulled his hands down toward Fraser as though reaching for him.

It was exactly what Fraser had needed. His body knew it. His body responded in kind, climaxing with shocking pleasure, wetting Ray down with his own hot fluid. And as Fraser breathed through the last spasms, he caught the short chain of the handcuffs between his teeth and tugged Ray's bound hands closer. He kissed his wrists, snaking his tongue under the cold, slick metal to seek out the pulse in each one, the rhythm of Ray's blood so strong there, so beloved.

Yes. Beloved.

He pulled carefully free of Ray and eased down next to him and simply breathed.

Ray yawned, and wrenched himself around to attempt to wipe sweat from his face with his upper arms, first one, then the other. He was only partially successful; Fraser gentled him till he lay back and let Fraser do it for him with a corner of the sheet.

Ray aimed a tired grin at him over one shoulder. "Thanks, Fraser."

"Don't mention it. It's the least I could do."

That made Ray chuckle softly, the most relaxed sound Fraser had heard from his friend in days. The thought warmed him.

But it also reminded him that they needed sleep; they had an important task ahead, and morning was only a small span of hours away. He started to say that to Ray, but Ray wasn't paying attention. Instead, he was chuckling, more loudly than before, and looking at his hands, separating them until the cuffs stopped him. He uncurled his fingers as he had earlier that morning, except that the configuration was clearly not a question any more. The cuffs, apparently, were a mere curiosity, a reason for amusement, and perhaps for pleasant memories, now that they'd made this carnal use of them.

Ray looked over at him again. "Do _not_ tell me you're into the handcuffs kink thing, Fraser, because I won't believe it."

"Well, I'm actually not, Ray."

"But you really got off on this." He clanked the cuffs.

Fraser reached for the key and found it still between the pillowcase and the pillow, where he'd shoved it earlier. He carefully unlocked the cuffs from around Ray's wrists and rubbed the skin underneath, seeking with his fingertips for any possible abrasions or contusions. He exhaled, relieved, when he didn't find any. He slid a hand down over the gentle curve of Ray's left buttock, very gingerly. "Please tell me I didn't—?"

"What, hurt me? Nah. It'd take more than that, buddy." Ray pulled his t-shirt back up over his shoulders, then off over his head. He mopped his face with it and tossed it onto the floor somewhere near Fraser's desk.

"I'm glad." Fraser paused. "Ray. You realize it's not my desire to make you submit to me? Er. Sexually, I mean."

"I know." Ray flexed his hands in front of him, then rubbed his wrists. "Sexually. Right. Good thing you clarified that. Because you make me submit in all kinds of other ways, all the time."

"No, I—"

"Oh, yes, you do," Ray interrupted, but he didn't seem angry. "You push me into stuff and off of stuff and you jump out of moving cars and do all sorts of insane shit. I've been in Lake Michigan in full clothing three times since I met you and I can't even..." he paused. "I can't even figure out how you do that," he finished.

Fraser had the distinct impression Ray'd been about to say something else, but it didn't seem germane, because Ray simply shrugged and concluded, "So I figure you don't need to push me in the bedroom, too. Am I right?"

Fraser rubbed his left eyebrow. "Well, I..."

Ray raised both his eyebrows. A smile edged onto his lips. "Or do you?"

"Well, no. At least, not in the sense that you seem to mean."

Ray was nodding and smirking at the same time. "Whatever, Fraser. If you do want to play kinky games, just, you know." He shrugged. "Ask. If it's really something that turns your crank, I'll probably be up for it." He smiled. "You know me, I'll try anything in bed, just about."

"That, ah. That's good to know, Ray."

"It's even better to _do_," Ray said, and winked at him.

"Oh, I'm certain it is," Fraser breathed. And a certain part of him twitched and tried very, very hard to get...well, very hard. Again. It didn't succeed, but if Fraser continued to lie here with Ray, he realized it wouldn't be dissuaded for long.

They needed sleep, however. The only handcuffs he was ever going to see on Ray again would be in the bedroom, he vowed to himself.

"Ray, we've got to..."

"Sleep, yeah, I know."

"Would you like to wash up?"

Ray rubbed a hand over his undoubtedly sticky belly. "Nah, if you don't mind, I'd just like to sack out right here. Get up later."

"I don't mind at all," Fraser said.

Ray's eyes fluttered closed, then opened again. "Wait, there won't be room. You can't..."

"I'll be fine," Fraser said, pulling one blanket off the cot onto the floor for himself and tugging the sheet and the other blanket up over Ray. "I'm perfectly comfortable on the carpet." And just before he slid down to it, just before Ray nodded off to sleep, he leaned over Ray and kissed him.

Ray kissed him back sleepily.

Fraser palmed the handcuffs and brought them down to the floor, watching them glint in the half-light. He curled his hand around one of the cuffs.

It was ironic, he thought as he closed his eyes and began to drift, that Ray should have put the cuffs on himself. After all, Fraser was certainly the one who was bound.

As long as Ray would have him, he vowed silently, he'd be here for Ray: partners, friends. Lovers, if Ray would have him.

Mentally, he tossed away the key.

  


—end—

**Author's Note:**

> Acknowledgments: Thanks to Nos4a2no9 for so many reasons—not confined to beta-ing, handholding, cheerleading, and generally being wonderful, but definitely for those. Thanks to Aukestrel for her ever-enthusiastic support and terrific and dependable insta-beta service at the drop of a Stetson, as always. Thanks and hugs!!
> 
> Written for secretlybronte in celebration of her birthday, 2008. She has been so patient and encouraging, and she is wonderful in more ways than I can possibly describe. If I could give her her own RayK, I'd do it in a heartbeat.


End file.
